Our picket fences, our happy homes. From the towers of this fortress we're looking down. To where backs are breaking under heavy loads and sandy air disappears into thirsty throats. One penny a day slips through pocket holes. As blood and sweat put out the last sparkle of hope. If you could find the strength to stand up, wouldn't you run? If you heard stories of a better place, wouldn't you run away? So he ran away, thought he could save his family. And we put him away, we're so afraid. Because from a distance barbed wire is invisible. How could he have known that Eden wasn't hospitable. That means running again. And hiding out like roaming shadows. Haunted down. Broken and exhausted. Their endless journeys and broken homes. In the dungeon of this fortress a man dies alone.